


In His Waters

by astramaxima (shotgunsinlace)



Series: Normal Rules Did Not Apply [2]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Childhood Trauma, Communication, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, First Dates, Fluff and Smut, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Humor, M/M, Making Love, Netflix and Chill, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Coital Cuddling, Romance, Service Top, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unapologetic Villain Apologism, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/astramaxima
Summary: A lot is said but unacknowledged in the aftermath of their unexpected first session in the lab, and Stone is unwilling to let it go just yet. Apparently, so is Robotnik, who suggests discussing personal matters off the clock—namely on a Friday night, in the city, just the two of them. Stone calls it a date, and neither disagrees.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Series: Normal Rules Did Not Apply [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768222
Comments: 43
Kudos: 119





	1. built to love, but broken

**Author's Note:**

> A completely self-indulgent follow up to _Be the Captain_. This baby can pack SO MUCH FLUFF and I'm not even sorry.

Decision making can always be narrowed down to a simple binomial equation. A fork in the road that can be narrowed to one on the flip of a coin. Black or white. Develop the atom bomb or don’t develop the atom bomb. Metaphysical and mundane. String Theory posits that one choice opens infinite possibilities throughout the universes rippling outwards from the bubble of Stone’s reality.

In preschool, he was taught why to decide. High school taught him when to decide. Adulthood explicitly taught him how, and that last one has a learning curve that lasts a lifetime. Doesn’t matter how fast he is at catching on, having a mechanical pitcher continuously throw fastballs in his direction tires him out, leaving him bruised and battered and desperate for respite. Instead, he gets yet another decision thrown at him:

Olive green or navy blue?

Stone looks down at the shirts on his bed.

He’s got forty-five minutes to get his ass appropriately dressed, and he can’t decide on a goddamn shirt. It would be easier to diffuse a bomb with a 9mm pressed to his chin on international waters, but no two dire situations are created equal. As it stands, he’s only a drive away from his most perilous mission yet and he really hopes, with every fiber of his new pants, that he doesn’t fuck it up.

Olive green matches his socks, and the thermal Henley will undoubtedly grant him more cover from the late autumn chill since he’s decided to wear a blazer rather than his pea coat. More casual, less intimidating. Not that it matters; Stone would have better luck intimidating the three-headed guardian at the gates of Tartarus than Robotnik.

Once the shirt and blazer are on, he decides he hates the brown buttons that in no way match his black shoes. Changing shoes means he will have to change his pants and blazer, throwing the whole look off. Changing those means his boxer briefs also wouldn’t match, and that won’t do. He considers just wearing the navy blue button down instead, but a glance at the digital clock on his nightstand says he has no time if he wants tonight to go according to plan.

Robotnik was inescapably clear last Monday evening as Stone was leaving for the night: _Friday, 1800 hours, not a second later._ And who is Stone, if not a man who delivers?

Satisfied with himself, Stone runs one last check on his apartment. 

He tidies up his bedroom, making sure the bedsheets are smoothed out and the pillows neatly arranged, blinds shut, and the digital clock angled enough to not be a nuisance to anyone trying to sleep. The bedside table drawer holds the necessary supplies for the hoped-for late-night activities, and Stone can’t help the nervous little ping somewhere in his chest.

Nervousness. Now there’s something he hasn’t felt since his bootcamp days when he was nothing but a scrawny little bastard getting reamed for mouthing off at his C.O. Godawful times. Hated every second of it as much as he hated being out in the field.

He turns off the bedroom and hallway lights before moving into the kitchen, setting two glasses on the island counter and turning on the puck lights underneath the cabinets, before making sure his mostly untouched bottles of liquor are properly arranged by height. Next is the living room, small as it is, taking the time to check all the windows and blinds.

Living on base may be convenient for the job, but it also lends itself to annoyingly nosy neighbors.

Lastly, Stone sets his thermostat to a comfortable 69º. He knows Robotnik likes his spaces to be on the warmer side, the doctor so frigidly cold Stone sometimes wonders if he’s some sort of vampire, but he’s a man with a plan. He’ll likely regret it in the middle of the night when icy toes get shoved under him for warmth but— 

Stone pauses mid-thought.

_Getting ahead of yourself again there, buddy._

The night’s objectives are clear, he made sure of it, but there’s still room for some rearranging.

After a week’s worth of trying to get Robotnik to say anything about their impromptu rump in the lab—and the consequent staying-over-and-waking-up-in-each-others-arms ordeal—the doctor finally cracked with near radioactive devastation in his wake. The tenseness had slotted firmly into Robotnik’s shoulders the moment they had walked out of Stone’s apartment together at 5:30 the following morning, and suddenly the Great Wall of China was dwarfed by the barricade unceremoniously erected between them.

But Stone is a very, _very_ patient man.

 _Maybe if we step outside,_ Stone had offered at one point. _Some fresh air might do us both some good._

_We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just need to know where we stand._

_I can take a day off if you’d like some space._

The machinations trapped inside Robotnik’s brilliant mind were not needed to create a picture. The flippant explanation of the doctor’s thirty-year dry spell was enough for Stone to infer the unacknowledged trauma of a young man who lacked guidance and was inhumanely deprived of basic kindness. Over the span of a few annoyed sentences, Stone was tuned to the fact that their little boning session was equivalent to laying a threadbare blanket over the peak of Mt. Everest, and he had been thrown into the assigned expedition without the proper training or materials.

He understood that the intention had changed by the time he watched Robotnik come undone underneath him. From a casual fuck of convenience to a very real potentiality in which Robotnik tentatively reached out to Stone in a rare and accidental display of vulnerability.

Stone cycled from admiration, to mind-altering lust, to swelling adoration over the course of an hour. Robotnik deftly kicked out the bottom rungs of the scaffolding that sent Stone crashing to his knees, leaving him looking up, silently begging for more of that aching tenderness he had seen before the sun rose, when Robotnik lay soft and unguarded on his pillows, less a mad genius and more a man with so many unfulfilled needs.

It may have taken a while, plenty of space offered and given, but Robotnik had finally risen from his chair, turning to Stone with an unimpressed look. _I dare you to make me regret this,_ he had said with fiery eyes and a vicious scowl.

Fortunately, Stone has been successful in adapting work techniques to his personal life. Communication is key when it comes to Robotnik, the concise kind, strings of words that hold no room for hidden meanings or mixed signals. It lacks nuance, denies the opportunity for social etiquette, but Stone allows it where the doctor is concerned. If they can communicate, and they have done so flawlessly for a good two years, nothing else matters.

Their agreement is simple: a night out in the city. Stone called it a date. Robotnik replied with _whatever floats your boat_. They decided on a day and time. No more off-the-job topics have followed.

It’s moments like these where Stone wishes Robotnik were a more sensical man as he often forgets to voice aloud what he deems _white noise_. Stone refers to said noise as ‘logical leaps’, bits of information detrimental to understanding the full meaning of a message. Basically, Stone is still unsure as to why Robotnik wants them to go out. He’s not complaining, mostly relieved that the doctor was the one who broke the ice and brought up such a ludicrous excursion, but that’s exactly why Stone wants to know. Robotnik’s emotional scope is usually limited to annoyance (towards all people, including Stone), anger (towards bureaucracy), and awe (at his machines and himself). It’s difficult to accept that the man suddenly grew an interest towards anything remotely friendly, let alone romantic.

Pocketing his phone and grabbing his keys, Stone sets up the security system and hits the lights on the way out of the apartment. He locks the door behind him and then stands there, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he checks his smartwatch and waits until it hits 5:45 to send the personalized fifteen minute timer emoji he knows will serve as the doctor’s reminder. 

Stone has zero expectations, prepared to face the fact that he may find Robotnik still lounging in his workwear despite having called it in at 3:00 in the afternoon. Their superiors had been confused but allowed it, considering neither of them had requested any time off during Stone’s employ.

The sun has already set but its light still clings to the horizon. Part of the sky is hidden behind heavy cloud cover, ushering in the forecasted cold breeze that will likely bring early season snow as the night progresses.

He quickly runs inside to grab two scarves and then dashes out again, dead leaves crunching underneath the rubber soles of his shoes as he makes for his Range Rover parked in the driveway.

He makes the drive over in eight minutes.

Being military means they all get their cookie cutter residences bunched in an underwhelming ant farm, easier to scramble, easier to blow up. A military lab rat, however, gets a slightly more upgraded cage mostly because he threatened to rip out a couple of throats with razor sharp teeth. The higher ups allow Robotnik the company of some of his tech due to the amount of surveillance on base, and it was a tradeoff the doctor ungraciously allowed. Stone doesn’t delude himself into thinking the military is in any way in control of their most prized asset, but it’s amusing to witness them talk high and mighty with a bubbling volcano with a mustache right below their feet.

Looking himself over in the rearview mirror and deciding he looks no different from any other day for the exception of the slight splash of color under his blazer, Stone nods. He may be breaking every rule in the Black Book, but at least he looks okay doing so.

He’s gotten no reply, but he sees light leaking out through cracks in the blackout curtains, so he steps out of the car at T-minus two minutes.

Clearing his throat and taking a steadying breath, he walks up to the front door and catalogs every concealed drone analyzing his every move. He wouldn’t be surprised if any are programmed to shoot to kill in the likely event of an intruder intent on causing harm.

He knocks on the door at the very last second and waits, hands in his pockets as he actively reminds himself not to stand at attention. They’re off the clock, this is social, and Stone is only given half of a second to panic before the door swings open.

The stress of his job keeps him from overindulging in the concept of dating. The amount of ritualistic preparation that goes into each outing is exhausting when the endgame is just to get laid and move on. For years he’s favored casual encounters with co-workers and old friends passing through, but as he stands in front of his boss, of all people, Stone decides he’s willing and ready to rewrite the entirety of the archaic guidebook to courting.

At first glance, Robotnik is a disaster. Impeccably groomed, a hint of tasteful cologne caressing Stone’s sense of smell, but the mismatched patterns of his pants and shirt take him by surprise. It doesn’t necessarily look bad considering they almost compliment each other, and the heavy coat draws the eyes away from the clash, but it’s so over the top Stone has to blink a couple of times before he can smile with something akin to delight. The pants don’t even reach all the way down to his ankles, revealing a sliver of gray socks that disappear into his usual—Stone sighs internally—zip-up shoes.

The worst part of it all is that Robotnik looks devastatingly handsome.

Stone should have brought him flowers.

He probably would’ve been made to eat them if he had, but it would have been worth swallowing every petal and prickly stem.

“Keep your eyes in your skull, Stone,” Robotnik says as he steps outside, the lights powering down and the door automatically sealing shut without any input from him. “I hope you brought your wallet.”

“You look nice,” Stone offers in return, gesturing towards his car. “Don’t you worry about it, Doctor. I’ve got everything covered.”

Robotnik doesn’t immediately move, staring at Stone with pinched eyebrows before sweeping a look over him. He nods his head and then heads for the passenger’s side, Stone taking the gesture for appreciation.

The wind picks up as Robotnik gets in the car, and Stone hesitates for a split second before joining him.

A night out in the city, just the two of them. Stone can’t even use the term ‘friends’ to describe them due to the doctor’s absolute aversion to the word, which makes putting tonight into words as impossible as Robotnik’s illogical yet accurate leaps.

Stone can only hope they both make it through with the same number of pieces they have started out with.

As he puts the car in drive, he berates himself for forgetting his breath mints.


	2. time enjoyed wasted's not wasted time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for horrible amounts of schmoop. (How's that for an ancient fandom term?)

The rain starts before Stone can find a parking spot in the heart of downtown. He doesn’t want to consider it an omen, even when Robotnik gripes at the idea of having to be exposed to elements that aren’t an acceptable 65 degrees on an overcast day. The dashboard says it’s 50 degrees and dropping with the possibility of sleet developing within the next hour.

“We can always call it off,” Stone says as he parks in front of an old theater undergoing renovations, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of the rain. “No point in either of us catching a cold.”

But Robotnik shoves open the car door and steps outside, glaring up at the sky as if daring it to do its worst. Stone rummages for the spare umbrella he always keeps in the backseat, however small it may be, and quickly gets out, jogging over to hold over the doctor’s head with a vague plea.

“I put my babies to sleep until tomorrow,” Robotnik says, snippily taking the umbrella out of his hands. “I interrupted my _routine_ , Stone, and once I make a decision there is no force in any version of reality to make me change my mind.” He twirls the umbrella then shivers from the cold. “So, _date me_.”

The corner of Stone’s mouth twitches before he realizes there’s no need to hold back a laugh. “Any place you’d like to go? The downtown area is pretty big.” Stone has various places picked out but allows Robotnik a moment to think about it as he’s pulled closer to the car, keeping the umbrella over both their heads while Stone goes back for the scarves.

“Walters should reconsider his stance on population control.”

Stone shakes his head. “Maybe we can talk about something else tonight.” He stands in front of the doctor and puts his argyle scarf around him, carefully tying it so it rests comfortably flush around Robotnik’s neck. “If you wanted to talk about work, we could have just kept it in the lab.”

Robotnik flattens down the scarf with a gloved hand, adjusting it further. “Since you’re clearly the professional here, what do people talk about when out on a lovely stroll in a sleepless city?”

Despite the sarcastic tone, Stone knows it’s a genuine question. The problem arises that Stone doesn’t have an answer, usually being the one who listens in this type of outing. He’s not a conversationalist, and he’s hardly a social butterfly, and he’s beginning to realize why he could never land a second date.

“No? Nothing? Because this is all I have to say right now: the weather’s shit and I’m…” Robotnik stops talking, his head tilting to the side as he hums curiously, nose twitching like a bloodhound, “…hungry?”

 _Food!_ There’s something he can work with.

Draping a scarf around his own neck and letting it hang there, Stone starts to walk down the crowded street. Robotnik matches his pace, and Stone catches him looking quizzically at the umbrella he’s holding. “Scale from one to ten?”

“Five and three quarters.”

“Asian or Latin?”

“Mediterranean,” Robotnik says after a short moment.

“I know just the place.”

They thread through side streets and throngs of boisterous teenagers and couples trying to huddle away the cold. Billboards and headlights create bright murals where they step on the wet asphalt, catching on windshields alongside the flashes of phone cameras going off. Muffled music pounds its way out of nightclubs yet to accept patrons, the queues dozens of people long out in the chill. Coffee shops and fusion restaurants inundate the senses with plenty of smells each as enticing as the next.

They wait for the light to turn on a crosswalk, and Stone is vigilant of the unnatural way Robotnik has been quiet. He dares a gentle squeeze to the forearm holding up the umbrella and, if anything, he knows the mindless task will help keep the doctor grounded while outside of his perfectly coordinated sanctum. “I’m right here,” Stone reminds him.

As far as he knows, Robotnik doesn’t have issues concerning sensory overloads and, if anything, the constant movement around them serves to keep the doctor tethered in the physical present rather than allow his mind to wander.

“I can _see_ that,” Robotnik says, launching himself across the street the moment the light turns. Stone double times it, tugging on his coat once they’ve made it over, directing him towards a side street lined with food trucks.

Before Stone can ask if Robotnik would like to narrow down his choices, the doctor makes a beeline for the blue and white truck with the words _It’s All Greek to Me!_ in fancy cursive font painted on its side. The last person on queue has already ordered by the time they get there, Robotnik marching up to the window and slipping into fluent Greek, holding up four fingers and grinning in a way Stone knows is meant to be polite but might not translate as such for anyone else.

The young woman taking orders laughs and waves at a man in the truck with her, shouting at him excitedly.

Stone watches the exchange, but he knows nothing of the language, curiosity spiking as the woman and the doctor engage in a rapid-fire conversation that has her turning to Stone with a solemn nod. She pauses briefly, chin in hand, before picking up again and winking at the two of them.

Robotnik is handed a small basket ten minutes later and they take cover behind the truck, underneath an awning. “She said I should have asked first,” he says, making Stone hold the basket of food as he closes the umbrella and leans it against the brick wall behind them.

Stone takes one of the triangle-shaped spanakopita, taking a bite out of it while holding the basket between them. He watches Robotnik remove a glove before grabbing one as well, uncaring of how hot it is. “Asked?”

“What you wanted, as if I didn’t already know.”

Stone taps the flaky crust with a finger, humming appreciatively at the quality and taste of the tiny savory pastry, the feta and spinach coming together beautifully. “What if I say I wanted Korean?”

Robotnik freezes mid-bite, his teeth bared around the triangle while his eyes flick up to look at Stone. He grumbles something unintelligible, somehow says it with his shoulders, before finishing up his bite. Flicking crust from the corner of his mouth and licking his lips clean, Robotnik repeats himself. “I’m never wrong.”

“Of course not, Doctor.” Technically, Stone hadn’t been in the mood for anything specific. He hadn’t even been hungry. “But she was also right. Think of it as proper dating etiquette.”

“Literally nothing about us is proper.” Robotnik plucks a napkin from the basket and wipes his mouth, then crumples it and waits for Stone to finish up the last of his spanakopita.

Once done, Stone empties out the food basket and deposits it at the front of the truck, giving the young woman a friendly wave now that Robotnik has resumed holding the umbrella.

“Are you cold?”

“I’ll live,” he says with dramatic inflection, bringing his coat tighter around him with his available hand as they begin their walk back towards the car. “How are you not freezing to death in that?”

Stone shrugs. “The cold’s never bothered me. Helps that the shirt is thermal, which let’s me be warm _and_ fashionable.” He holds out his hands to gesture at himself, grinning up at Robotnik. “It’s nice to have the opportunity to wear something other than a suit while I’m out and about.”

Robotnik leans the umbrella against his shoulder, idly twirling it now that the rain has let up just enough to not soak his socks. “The color enhances your complexion,” he says, and were Stone not directly looking at him, he would have feared someone is holding a gun to the doctor’s back.

“Thanks,” is Stone’s quiet reply, more of that same nervousness blooming in his chest. Being here feels no different from any other day in the lab, maybe slightly more tense, but that’s to be expected. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Spare me the small talk. You’ve read my file.”

“Right.” He tries again. “Which is your favorite?”

“All of them since they all have something unique to offer.” Robotnik deadpans. “They’re words, Stone. A tool.”

“Okay,” Stone drags the word out, expecting no less difficulty. 

They lapse into silence as they walk, the wet streets glistening as they go. Honking horns and the constant stream of voices around them lulls Stone into a familiar zone, one that echoes the soft hum and whir of machinery under Robotnik’s guidance. He figures they don’t need to talk. After much debate he opted to not include that as an activity for tonight and being who they are, silence can be a far more pleasant shared activity.

“Tamil,” Robotnik eventually allows, facing straight ahead as they meander. “Dubbed films are the bane of my existence and I happen to like Tamilar productions. I may… be inclined towards Prabhas as an actor.”

Stone nods his head, wide-eyed at the sudden offering. “We should compare Netflix accounts.”

Robotnik snorts. “I know about your despicable soft spot for subpar 90s movies and you can’t make me waste a second of my invaluable time.”

“I’d still like some recommendations.’

The doctor looks at him. “Due my superior taste? I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Specifically,” Stone says solemnly, but then smiles, making Robotnik shake his head with a hint of actual amusement. “Prabhas, huh?” He has no idea who that is, but the revelation that Robotnik regards someone other than himself with high esteem leaves him awed.

Robotnik faces away from him again. “Which language would you choose to learn? Given the limited amount you have listed.”

“Klingon,” is Stone’s instant reply, stopping when Robotnik does so to laugh so loudly it garners them a handful of looks. “What’s so funny?”

The doctor wipes the corner of his left eye, riding out the wave that apparently took him by surprise. “You’re a goddamn _GEEK_.”

“ _I’m_ the—I would bet actual money that you’re fluent in it.”

“Fictional languages don’t count as real languages.”

“Says who?”

“Me,” Robotnik says, moving out of the way when Stone grabs him by the coat sleeve. It’s too cold to stand still for too long. “One of the few memories of that grotesque orphanage that doesn’t make me want to throw up in my mouth is of Captain Kirk fighting Gorn. Room full of gangly miscreants all climbing over each other on a Tuesday night, battling over the tiniest television. I could’ve made it technicolor but,” he waves a hand with a disinterested flourish, “nobody ever listened to me.” Robotnik smiles far off, scrunching up his shoulders as if he were delighted. “Simple times. The answer is yes, by the way.”

Stone shoves his hands in his pants pockets to keep from doing anything stupid, like holding Robotnik’s own. These tiny glimpses into his past always succeed in blindsiding him, each little nonchalant story burying a rusty nail deeper into Stone’s heart. As always, Stone wishes there was something he could say or do, but he’s no therapist. Hell, he can barely think back to his own little repertoire of childhood traumas.

He takes too long to reply and Robotnik is looking at him, waiting, before turning away with annoyance curling his lip.

“I was more of a Mobile Suit Gundam kid,” Stone says, acknowledging the generational divide. “My sibling was still tyke at the time, small enough to fit in the clothes basket so I’d put her in there and race her around our yard because I couldn’t fit.” He laughs at the vivid memory, of a family he had to bury before he was even a teenager. “Always had a thing for robots,” he confesses, eyes on his shoes as they continue their aimless wandering.

“The truth finally exposed: you only want me for my machines.”

“Oh no, I’ve been found out,” Stone says, impressively straight-faced, holding up his hands before bursting out into a laugh when Robotnik has the audacity to shove him out of the umbrella. “Hey! It’s _cold!_ ” Stone wraps a hand around Robotnik’s bicep, pulling them closer under the cover of flimsy black plastic. “Could you not be a menace for one night?”

“Deleting ninety percent of my personality would be easier,” Robotnik quips, his attention switching from their point of contact, to the crowd, then back to Stone.

Stone catches it as well as the sudden stiffness underneath his touch. He’s about to retreat when Robotnik tightens his arm against his side, keeping him in place. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Stone says.

A war briefly wages across Robotnik’s face, a dozen or so thoughts displayed with brutal transparency. “I don’t hate it.”

Good enough.

Stone shifts his hold enough for them to walk with linked arms, falling into sync with ease.

It’s a nice feeling, one he had never expected to share with Robotnik of all people, but everything that has led them to his point is nothing short of a miracle. Two weeks ago, Stone had stood at his back and admired with peaceful longing that was in no way urgent, committing to his job to the best of his ability, going above and beyond the expectations of his superiors. That hasn’t changed but having a little more of the doctor’s attention has certainly raised the heat in more than just a professional aspect.

Despite the occasional lapse of drawn out pensive moods, Robotnik is no different outside of the lab. He certainly yells less, but that’s likely due to a lack of constant stressors breathing down his neck, ready to rip it out at a moment’s notice. Anonymous among a bustling crowd, without a need to perform, he was almost normal. Not average, _never_ average, but more human than he would like to admit.

There’s a gentleness to this. It settles deep inside of Stone, a need to protect that feels different from the ferocious loyalty he clings onto while on the job. This sits warm, all-encompassing, and it scares him enough to make him want to reconsider.

Too fast. _But has this not been brewing for years?_

Too deep. _Personal fault on both their ends. Next._

Too damaged. _Even jammed turrets and faulty wires get their time of healing under the doctor’s precise fingers._

Stone flinches when icy rain patters on top of his head, the umbrella swinging to the side to bring him back from his thoughts.

“Overthinking is a fool’s excuse for inaction,” Robotnik says, smirking down at him.

“One of us has to do some sort of thinking,” Stone returns. “Won’t do either of us any good to rush in blind.”

“My eyes are always open.”

“That damages your vision all the more.”

“I wasn’t being literal, Stone.”

“I know,” he says, patting Robotnik’s arm. “Just messing with you.”

“Your snark multiplies exponentially whenever you’re not on duty.” Robotnik clears his throat, looking straight ahead. “I like it,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too convinced by his own statement. “It’s as if you’re a completely different person.”

“Am I?”

Robotnik doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m never wrong.”

“You knew I wouldn’t say no when you came onto me that night,” Stone says, eyeing a group of teenagers who accidentally bump into him.

“Consider it a gamble with favorable odds.” Robotnik abruptly changes their path, hauling Stone along the moment the intersection light changes. They hurry along with the crowd, careful not to lose their footing on the increasingly slick asphalt. “Your pupils dilate a certain way when I address you. It was safe to assume you weren’t entirely repulsed by me.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that statement, but Stone isn’t given the opportunity to even begin when he’s hauled to the side, umbrella shut and shaken out, then dragged through a glass door, the jingle of bells announcing their arrival.

His nose is assaulted by the sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar, a classic mixture that can only be attributed to an ice cream parlor in the process of pouring waffle batter onto a press.

It’s significantly quieter in here, and Stone shakes himself off as Robotnik places their umbrella on a rack by the door. There aren’t a lot of people, and those who take up a table are cradling hot mugs of something or another.

“Hi there! Feel free to sit wherever you like and someone will be with you shortly,” says a young man from behind the counter, politely giving them a wave.

Stone removes his scarf while Robotnik sheds his coat, both moving in tandem towards the table for two by the large windows facing the street.

The parlor is delightfully warm, Stone rubbing his hands together once he’s sat down in hopes of bringing life back into frigid fingers. Robotnik’s arm provided some shelter from the ever-dropping temperature, but Stone is still woefully unprepared for once in his life.

Gloves removed and safely tucked away within the layers of the coat now draped over his lap, Robotnik plucks up the plastic menu pinned behind the napkin dispenser. He flips through it, murmuring to himself.

“There’s several coffee shops I could recommend,” Stone says, leaning over just enough to see the menu as well.

“Coffee shops smell like coffee,” Robotnik says, as if that holds any explanation for Stone’s unspoken question. “Besides, I want a milkshake.”

“Doctor, it’s forty degrees out.”

“Not in here it isn’t.” He lifts the menu high enough for Stone to be unable to read, turning away to lean his back against the undoubtedly cold window. “Not my fault you under dressed.”

Stone knocks his knuckles against the table with a slow nod, exasperatedly endeared. “Entirely my fault.”

His watery reflection stares back at him, interrupted by the glimmer of yellow lights as they continue to shine on the outside. Stone follows the silhouettes of random people out enjoying their Friday night, lively despite the weather, some alone and others with company, most of them rushing to get somewhere before rain finally turns to snow.

He rests his elbows on the table without looking away, elated that he’s one of them. For better or worse, he and Robotnik are outside of the lab, off work hours, doing absolutely nothing other than eating and talking about things that aren’t weapons of mass destruction. Stone almost thinks of them as friends before reconsidering, uncertain of what to call this fragile little bloom between them.

“You gentlemen ready to order?” The young man who greeted them before—name tag _Jeff_ —stands with a notepad poised at the ready. “Before we start off! We have our new amaretto and white chocolate ice cream if you would like to sample some of that. Don’t ask me how, but we managed to get this batch extra creamy.”

“Would it be possible, young champ,” Robotnik says, steepling his fingers as if he were plotting something horrendously sinister, “for us to get one _large_ milkshake with exactly two ounces of the following flavors: sweet cream for a base, pistachio, banana, lemon, raspberry, and add some of that amaretto white chocolate for some _zess-T_. And don’t forget—the sprinkles.”

Jeff is staring down at his notepad, pen still pressed against the paper after the aborted attempt at writing down the first of the flavors. The young man nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Could you repeat those last seven things?”

“We’ll take a mini vanilla shake,” Stone interjects for the sake of Jeff’s sanity and job.

Robotnik’s head snaps to him, says: “a medium shake,” without looking away.

“Small would be fine.” Stone flashes a smile at Jeff. “With some whipped cream on top.”

“… And sprinkles.”

“And sprinkles,” he concedes, watching the young man forgo writing down the order altogether and shuffle away behind the counter.

“Just who do you think you are, Stone? I give you one inch of leeway and suddenly you think you’re in charge.”

“My treat. I’m not paying for a stomach ache and a sugar rush that could cripple a continent.”

Robotnik’s glare is more quizzical than angry, turning away only when he decides to push up his sleeves up to his elbows. “Your treat rather than the government’s dime, I see.”

Stone runs a hand across his face. “Dinner?”

“On Walter’s tab, obviously.”

“That’s—I— _Doctor_.” Stone clasps his hands together, unable to help a small laugh. “I understand that this is by no means an average date by common definition, but I thought we would, maybe, play it by the book a bit.”

“A book rife with social constructs! My favorite.”

“No, I mean, yes, you’re right, but…” Resting his chin atop his joined fingers, Stone tries his hardest not to sound like he’s pleading. “I just want to do something nice—,” he pauses once he realizes what he’s about to say, suddenly very aware of the jittery energy making his knee bounce underneath the table. He can’t take it back now, can’t think of any other way to finish that sentence other than the original message behind it, “—for you. Even if it meant buying you dinner. Not like that’s any different from what I _usually_ do, but, we’re not at the lab and…” Stone clenches his jaw shut before he can dig himself into an even deeper hole.

“Neither of us has a role in that book,” Robotnik says, angling away from the window as he rubs his forearms to friction away the cold. “Look at us.”

“Then we write our own. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve led a pioneering endeavor.”

“In robotics. Mechanical engineering. Artificial Intelligence.”

“Two more for a five-for-five,” Stone says. “And if writing’s a waste of your time, then we can improvise.”

Robotnik doesn’t meet his eyes, arms crossed over himself and shoulders pinched so severely Stone hasn’t seen them like this since their last big project. The man looks a mix of confused and affronted, fighting yet another internal war and Stone can’t decipher which side, if any, is winning. 

He thinks back to the flippant confession Robotnik had made to him regarding his last romantic rendezvous, if Stone would even call it that, and two things are made abundantly clear to him: never forgive and never forget are two practices saved for more than just the doctor’s professional life. It may have been thirty years ago but Robotnik has never gotten over it, likely festering someplace other than his mind; maybe in that tiny mechanical heart he’s designed for himself since childhood. Stone wonders why now, what the catalyst was to make Robotnik go from absolute aversion to entertaining the thought of them spending time outside of work. 

They are beyond acquaintanceship, knowing more about each other than they do any other person living or otherwise. Stone would like to consider them friends, professional relationships aside. Friends with benefits is a little too crude for them, considering they’ve only messed around once and the more time passes the more he’s convinced that was some sort of fluke: the doctor acting impulsively and his agent all too willing to oblige out of some twisted mixture of hero worship and puppy love. 

Both lonely despite each other’s constant companionship.

“You want this,” Robotnik finally says, lost between statement and question. He gestures to the space between the two of them, eyebrows arched with incredulity.

Stone scratches his cheek before smoothing a hand over his beard, carefully nodding his head. “Yes,” he says, knowing that transparent honesty is one of the ways to avoid pissing him off. “I really do enjoy your company, Doctor.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere but the least you could do is try.”

Before Stone can sound off, their milkshake is delivered with limited interaction. Jeff puts down the curiously bubble-shaped cup at the center of the small table, along with two paper straws on a stainless-steel tray before he rushes away again.

Robotnik destroys the delicately arranged swirl of whipped cream and sprinkles, mixing it all together before stabbing in his straw and taking a large sip. His face scrunches at the sweetness before his eyes light up with delight, shimming his chair closer to the table as he pulls the cup closer to him.

Stone pulls it back to the center of the table. “You’re not having all of that.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” The cup is tugged right back into Robotnik’s space, cradled protectively within his long fingers. He takes one uninterrupted drag before clenching up, shaking his head to get rid of the uncomfortable brain freeze, but he is otherwise undeterred.

“Fine,” Stone mutters to himself, standing up, picking up his chair and putting it down next to Robotnik. 

The table is small, and Stone has to set their chairs flush together so as to not block off the pathway. Sitting down, he has no choice than to drape his arm over the back of the doctor’s chair and lean up against him, finally able to put his own straw in the milkshake. He’s forced to lean further into the doctor’s space for a taste.

Like this, their legs press together, Robotnik intimately tucked into Stone’s side due to his own stubbornness and unwillingness to share. It’s _cozy_ , with music softly playing in the background and the lights dim in the parlor, snow finally gracing the world on the other side of the window, gathering on windshields and parking meters.

Robotnik relinquishes his death grip on the milkshake, allowing it to rest between them on their shared side of the table. His face has an attractive hint of rose to it, and Stone would bet that, if asked, Robotnik would insist it’s due to the cold.

Wordlessly, Stone meets his eyes, asking if this is alright, if any boundaries that shouldn’t be pushed are still intact.

Robotnik doesn’t answer, his thumb idly rubbing a circle along the surface of the plastic cup.

Stone crosses his legs to minimize their points of contact, but he otherwise doesn’t pull away.

They drink in silence, chewing on sprinkles that get sucked up along with the creamy ice cream. The milkshake is just the right amount of thick, deliciously silky and in no way overpowering, its flavor lingering pleasantly on Stone’s tongue.

Simple and sweet, how he wishes _they_ were rather than lugging decades worth of baggage. He wishes he could cut it all away, but Robotnik may be just as unwilling as he is to let go of wounds that have shaped them into the men they are. _Two halves of a whole idiot,_ he thinks, not opposed to the idea of finally unpacking after an endlessly exhausting trip.

There is something about Robotnik, he finds, that inspires the gentlest form of fulfillment in him. Despite the constant coming and goings of their lives, sharing said lives with each other brings a comfort Stone hadn’t been aware he craved. The doctor feels like embers in a hearth: touch and you’ll burn, but his warmth is home.

“I write the book,” Robotnik eventually says, sharp and authoritative, all the while pushing the milkshake towards Stone. “I’ll allow you to proofread as I go, trusting you have the proper credentials to do so.”

Surprised and feeling just the littlest bit in love, Stone agrees. “There’s a small handful of letters of recommendation, if you’d like.”

“Define small.”

“Maybe two. Three, tops.”

Robotnik scoffs. “In nearly four decades worth of experience. Abysmal. No confidence inspired.”

“Are you insinuating I’ve been dating since I was _born_?” Stone nudges him playfully, grinning despite how ridiculous that sounds.

“Fine, two decades.”

“Better but still not accurate.”

“It’s accurate enough. Four positive Yelp reviews in over twenty years of offered services—how do _you_ think that looks on your record, Stone?”

“That just means I’m not cut out for everyone. All the negative ones say I’m too stubborn and detail oriented. High maintenance, sharp edges, borderline obsessive, workaholic, bakes too much,” Stone holds up a finger for each trait that has gotten him pushed aside throughout his life. “The positive ones mostly consist of a five-star rating and ‘great lay’ written in the box without any punctuation.” He shrugs. “I’m hit or miss, really.”

Robotnik looks down at him, picking at the words. “That anyone would say that about _my_ agent, that I _chose_ from a pack of less than mediocre Neanderthals. They didn’t even mention your elite coffee making skills.”

“Maybe you can add that in your review.”

“Insinuating I would ever dismiss your services, work-based or otherwise.”

Stone goes to reply but then stops, taking in the words with an airiness that settles in his chest. “Doctor—”

“Finish up, Stone. I think it’s high time we wrap up this evening before the weather worsens.” Robotnik fishes for his gloves, slipping them on with practiced ease. “It’s getting late, and you’re responsible for burning the sugar we’ve just consumed.”

It takes a moment for the meaning to sink in, but when it does, Stone shifts in his chair when the faintest pangs of arousal make themselves known to him. Nothing quite gets him going like Robotnik being blunt about his wants, especially while out in public, it would seem.

“In that case,” Stone says, grabbing his wallet and dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the table, “let me take you home, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Midnight" by Alesso ft. Liam Payne.
> 
> Robotnik's "little" milkshake order was more-or-less lifted from a real life experience when I worked as an 'ice cream barista'. One day this gentleman walks in, orders a medium chocolate ice cream with ten additional add-ons, and then proceeds to browse the _designer chocolates_ display--looks me dead in the eye and goes "I want to add THOSE to my ice cream". It took ten minutes to complete an order that would have taken me less than one, IN A PARLOR FULL OF PEOPLE WAITING TO BE SERVED. Total amount: $119.34. At the very least, he left me a $30 tip.


	3. did he make you feel like this?

As far as dates go, Stone is only partially surprised by the fact that this one hasn’t ended in the throes of unbelievable catastrophe. A little voice in the back of his head tries to debate that he and Robotnik are compatible in ways he never thought possible, but Stone writes it off as wishful thinking. Tonight has been successful because their dynamic was hardly altered. Rather than pretend to be an average man with average interests and hobbies, Stone allowed himself the normalcy of every day to move him. His normalcy, which coincides and accentuates Robotnik’s own brand of the concept.

The snow that falls is powdery, slick under the soles of their shoes as they slip and slide their way to Stone’s front door. His hands shake—from the cold, he tells himself, and not at all from the excitement—as he unlocks it and leads them inside into welcoming warmth.

Robotnik shakes himself off like a wet dog and Stone laughs, wordlessly taking his coat and scarf with near reverence, allowing his fingers to brush the thick fabric of his shirt underneath. The doctor doesn’t comment on it, toeing off his shoes before sliding his way into the kitchen on socked feet.

Stone hangs up his own scarf and neatly aligns both their shoes by the door before pursuing his genius into the kitchen that is illuminated by nothing but the soft glow of the puck lights. Without needing to ask, he pours them each a finger of scotch.

Robotnik leans back against the island counter, taking the offered glass once a single cube of ice is dropped into it. 

He sniffs his drink, takes a sip, then nods his approval.

“Nothing too fancy,” Stone explains, removing his blazer and carelessly draping it over a stool before taking up his own glass. “But I figured we could use a celebratory drink.” _Something to take the edge off._ Standing across from Robotnik, he raises it. “To the population remaining unchanged over the past three hours.”

“Bioethics research statistics project an average of two-hundred and ninety-seven deaths every hour in the United States alone,” Robotnik corrects with a shrug, lifting his own glass and clinking them together. “To mutually assured destruction.” 

They drink, knocking it back in one go.

Stone feels as if they should talk about this, address the how they got here and what is to come, but he convinces himself that this is only their first date and vehemently hopes it isn’t their last. Now that he has a frame of reference, Stone would like to take Robotnik to other places: museums and art galleries, actual sit-in restaurants and maybe the movie theater. Robotnik would probably hate those, think them too boring, but something tells Stone the doctor would at least consider his ideas. And maybe, perhaps someday, Robotnik will recommend something—something outlandish and likely illegal, and Stone will throw on his most comfortable shoes and tag along.

After placing his tumbler in the sink, Stone moves to stand in front of Robotnik. He takes his glass and puts it on the countertop beside him, resting a hand low on Robotnik’s chest.

“You’re quiet,” Stone says, leaning up to mouth the doctor’s jawline without pretense.

Robotnik angles his head back, lifting his chin to grant Stone access to his neck. “The time for talking has been over. You’re slacking.”

“Oh. My bad.” Both hands now on Robotnik, Stone drags his lips over impossibly soft stubble as he pinches both nipples through the fabric of the black patterned shirt, making the doctor flinch. “I just needed a moment to figure out how we were fucking tonight.”

Robotnik grabs Stone’s hips, fingertips digging into firm flesh. “You promised me a bed.”

“I just so happen to have one of those.”

“Then why aren’t we in it?”

Stone laughs, reaching down to fondle Robotnik’s groin through those hideously stylish pants he’s wearing. “You didn’t ask.”

Robotnik glares at him, grabbing Stone by the jaw and squeezing it hard enough to almost hurt. “Now, you’re going to listen to me carefully because I’m really not in the mood to repeat myself, Stone. From this moment forward, I’m granting you explicit administrative permission to do as you please, so long as you _stop trying to get me to beg_. Do I make myself clear?”

A mumbled reply is the best he can muster with the unyielding grip, until a gloved finger pushes into his mouth.

“You’re a man of many talents. I want you to use your teeth—and _only_ your teeth—to remove my gloves. Capiche?”

Stone hums docilely, swirling his tongue around the single digit and tasting the tight fabric before sucking it deeper into his mouth, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the doctor’s. He lavishes it with attention, obscenely hallowing his cheeks before allowing the finger to slip out of his mouth. “I don’t think I will, sir.”

Robotnik’s exhale is abrupt, only the mildest of protests at having his authority challenged and shifted to his agent. Last time had been tentative, the dynamic unrefined as they stumbled to see how much was too much. Tonight, however, they both know who is in charge, and it’s sure as hell not Robotnik.

They kiss, and Stone takes the opportunity to straddle one of Robotnik’s thighs, slowly rutting against it as thin lips give way to wet tongue, hands ghosting across broad space, pulling close.

Stone breaks away with a peck to Robotnik’s cheek, taking his hand and guiding him out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into his bedroom.

They had made it back early enough that Stone had hoped to watch a movie on his couch and make a deadly attempt at seduction while Matt Damon attempts to fertilize Mars in the background. _Not the only thing getting fertilized tonight_ , Stone would have said had he managed to get the doctor on his back, legs on either side of him.

But he did promise Robotnik a bed.

Once ushered into the room, Stone locks the door behind him. He hits the overhead light, dims them just enough to be able to see Robotnik taking in the sights as he walks around the unnecessarily large space for the scarcity of furniture.

Plucking his phone out of his back pocket, Stone reengages the security system, locking every threshold between them and the fence right outside. He holds it up for Robotnik to see, and once he gets a hum of approval Stone turns it off and sets it on his dresser.

They’re alone now. Well and truly. No possibility of surveillance, none of the doctor’s drones keeping a careful eye on his well being. Here Robotnik is as vulnerable as he can possibly be, cracked open, his wiring exposed, the armor of his coat and the stronghold of his lab stripped away, leaving him at his agent’s mercy.

The two of them fall into each other’s gravity, no use in fighting it when they know what they’re here for. Kisses are brief, more a desperate exchange of spit as they take turns nipping at each other’s lips, jaws, and necks. In the silence they listen to the carnal seal of their mouths, sharp huffs, wanton little moans as they refuse to ease up, pausing to fill their lungs before plunging in again, unchecked, no barriers.

Stone walks Robotnik backwards until the back of his legs meet the foot of the bed and he’s made to sit. Calloused hands hold the sides of his face, tilting his head upward for Stone to slot into a long, languid kiss, one he can pour every ounce of feeling this moment stirs up within the cage of his chest. He stands between the doctor’s knees, runs a hand through his hair and tenderly drags his fingertips over the unbearably soft fade.

He pulls away just enough to catch Robotnik staring up at him with glassy eyes, parted lips spit-slick and swollen.

“How’s a second first time sound?” Stone whispers into his ear, making the doctor go slack against his chest. “This time proper.” He removes Robotnik’s shirt with a little difficulty, the long sleeves catching on his elbows, but once it’s gone and the doctor sits there shivering, Stone swoops in for yet another kiss. “Scoot up.”

Robotnik doesn’t immediately move, a thin veil of defiance stubbornly hanging on as he fixes Stone with a vaguely threatening look, one the agent disarms by placing the gentlest of kisses on the doctor’s forehead.

There’s no sexy way to do it. How Robotnik pulls back the sheets and crawls on all fours up the bed, plopping onto his back once he’s reached the sweet spot, reminds Stone of an annoyed housecat being nudged away from the single available beam of sunlight on an early winter afternoon. He stacks the pillows under his head, shimming his whole body until he’s comfortable.

Stone comes dangerously close to tugging on his socked toes.

He doesn’t, and instead sits on the edge of the bed to remove Robotnik’s socks. A long leg bends, attempting to move the foot away, but Stone quickly grabs an ankle. “We’re not doing this with socks on,” he says, only to pause when Robotnik makes a sound similar to drowning laughter. _Ticklish._ Stone considers it but decides against weaponizing the new bit of knowledge, storing it for a later date.

Socks removed, Stone looks up the long limbs still clad in those atrocious pants, at the soft midsection and sparse dusting of hair on his chest that Robotnik tries to hide behind petulantly crossed arms. He’s facing away from Stone, nose pinched and mustache lopsided.

Truth of the matter is that Dr. Robotnik is _handsome_ , and Stone is _giddy_ at being able to properly take him in his bed. Yes, they’ve slept in it once, in the literal sense, but now Stone can revel in the leadup to saccharin pillow talk and the intimate curling of resting bodies.

It’s Stone’s turn to prowl up the bed, encasing Robotnik between his arms and legs and looking down at him with an easy grin he hopes conveys his excitement. He delivers a kiss to a pronounced clavicle, nuzzles the doctor’s suprasternal notch and his protective arms begin to fall away, revealing skin bit by pale bit.

Robotnik’s breathing is uneven as Stone removes his gloves—with his teeth as he’s yet to disobey a direct order from the man, even when he’s not in charge—and carefully sets them on the bedside table.

Stone holds Robotnik’s right hand as a prince greeting his beloved, kisses the first set of knuckles and then the second, the back of his hand, traces a line up his forearm with the tip of his nose, mouths at his biceps, and then sucks a beautifully pink bruise on his shoulder. He repeats the gestures on the other arm, but this time takes a moment to leave yet another bruise on that sensitive neck that arches in a desperate plea for more.

Bed sheets bunched in a white-knuckle grip; Stone comes up to kiss his mouth. “You can touch me, you know.”

There’s a click behind Robotnik’s eyes, as if he’s just falling into time and realizing who it is hovering over him. They go from tired to fiery, the small dredges of aloof pleasure swimming in them finally shifting to something more familiar. Stone almost feels affronted, knowing Robotnik’s mind has been elsewhere, but he doesn’t have it in him when he’s aware of how deep the roots of insecurity go.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve swapped buffer solutions for a vial of CBD.” The way Robotnik rubs his eyes coupled with the looseness of his body tells Stone he really is moments away from falling asleep. “Those monkeys at HQ do a better job at cutting to the chase than you do.”

Stone cocks an eyebrow. “I could get the Major in here if you want. We all know how much he wants a piece of you.”

Robotnik’s grimace is something to behold. “Good thing I’m still limp, otherwise I’d mourn the wasted energy.”

Playfully, Stone laps Robotnik’s bottom lip. “I just want to make this good,” he says against it, “those little noises you keep making really get me going.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it considering you’re still fully dressed and I’m two seconds away from blissful unconsciousness.”

“We could stop. Take a nap instead.”

“I will personally see to your reassignment.”

Stone straightens up with a smug curl to his mouth, straddling Robotnik’s waist as he peels off his Henley and tosses it onto the floor. “I always have to do all the work.”

Robotnik doesn’t waste a moment, bringing up a hand to tentatively touch the smooth skin of Stone’s abdominal muscles. The other rests on his thigh. “You’re the only living being I trust to flawlessly execute any given task, Stone. As… _perfect_ as any human possibly can.”

The words sink in syrupy slow and sweet, clinging to the meaty parts inside of Stone’s chest and constricting them until breathing becomes laborious. He shivers, cock fully hard inside his pants as he looks down at his doctor, no stoic façade required.

“It’s meant to be a compliment,” Robotnik says after a beat, unsure of the reaction.

Stone leans down again, kissing him slow and deep, hands cradling his head as if he were drinking ambrosia from an insurmountably priceless glass. He drinks, and drinks, and drinks, until Robotnik pushes him away before his lungs can collapse.

He doesn’t let up, biting along his jawline as he ruts against Robotnik’s belly, panting hotly against his ear before he can collect himself. “I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t go a week without wanting to come back here,” Stone says, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger to give it a light tug.

Robotnik swallows with an audible click, eyes hooded as he finally allows himself to touch freely, hand pausing over Stone’s pectorals. “Don’t disappoint me, Stone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

He leans over to open the bedside drawer, taking with him a small leather bag as he readjusts so that he’s kneeling between Robotnik’s legs. Stone sets it aside, kisses the spot right above the doctor’s navel as he pops the button of his pants. It’s a struggle to undress him further, Stone resorting to amused chuckles as he tugs those horrible pants off him, Robotnik’s legs uselessly flailing in order to help. Stone almost gets kicked in the face, but he deflects the weaponized foot in time.

No underwear. Saucy little minx.

Settled, Stone kisses a calf before placing the leg down on the mattress. “Toss me a pillow.”

It hits him on the head and Stone almost throws it right back, but he’s getting impatient. Robotnik is laying underneath him, stunningly nude and aroused enough to no longer feel the need to cower from Stone’s doubtlessly ravenous gaze. He really should have rubbed one out before any of this started.

Pillow fluffed; he taps Robotnik’s hip. “Lift.” Stone settles the pillow underneath, allowing the doctor a moment of wiggling before he finds a spot that’s comfortable again, lower half slightly elevated.

Stone massages his way down Robotnik’s legs, leaving kisses in the wake of his fingers until he’s lying on the foot of the bed, head cradled between deceptively toned thighs. He brushes his face over silky smooth skin, mindful of his beard. A hand in his hair makes Stone’s hips stutter, seeking friction against the mattress, but then those wicked fingers tug hard enough to make him wince.

“Not until you’re inside me,” Robotnik says with no-nonsense authority, making Stone’s cock throb. In retaliation, he nips the inside of a milky thigh, high enough to be almost painful, but Robotnik’s response is a tiny hitched moan.

At this rate, neither of them is going to last very long tonight.

From inside the bag Stone draws out a small bottle of lubricant, a hand towel, and a silver bullet-shaped vibrator he’s yet to use, equipped with brand new batteries. He leaves the blindfold, plug, and cock ring for another time, when they’re both ready and willing to surrender more than they already have.

Fingers coated, resting on his elbows, Stone nuzzles the still limp cock nestled among neatly trimmed hair. He kisses it, feeling it twitch under his lips, and Stone is reminded that his doctor might exude youthful exuberance, but the man is, at least, some twenty years older than him. It excites him to no end, making him a little harder, knowing he will have to work for that enticing erection that was already waiting for him that last time.

Simultaneously, with the ease of an expert multitasker, Stone takes Robotnik’s cock into his mouth as he presses a finger—all the way to the first knuckle—into his ass. The grip in his hair tightens expectedly and Stone takes it, humming his approval around the easy mouthful. He doesn’t suck, doesn’t lick, just lays there and warms it as he works Robotnik open with dexterous fingers.

Stone’s unoccupied hand presses the button at the base of the vibrator, turning it on to its lowest setting and idly gliding it over Robotnik’s thighs, the base of his cock, that spot between Stone’s bottom lip and the heavy sac. That particular area gets Stone’s head nearly crushed between powerful thighs, Robotnik choking back one of the plethora of sounds he’s making.

He’s three fingers in—maybe too quickly, but Robotnik doesn’t seem to mind—when he’s finally forced to pull off the now hard cock to breathe. Stone is no professional when it comes to judging dicks, having only ever been in the presence of a limited amount in the context of sex, but trust Robotnik to have one that’s _pretty_. A little below average sized but thick, curving slightly in effort to seem menacing.

Turning off the vibrator and setting it aside, Stone starts to stroke him, pulling back the foreskin to suckle teasingly at the glistening head, swirling his tongue around the glans before sealing his lips around it to suck.

The hand on his head vanishes, and Stone looks up from his spot to see Robotnik pressing them to his face, palms against his eyes as his teeth grit out a vicious hiss. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t trembling, his heels seeking purchase on the bed as Stone pulls him apart between mouth and fingers.

He thought he felt powerful before, when he took Robotnik on his workbench with feverish frenzy, but this feels headier, both sacred and profane as he worships at the doctor’s thighs, consumes him with such animal instinct Stone would believe he’s found salvation with the hands he’s used to draw blood on an incalculable amount of occasions. This isn’t forgiveness, but divine sanctioning.

Robotnik whines when Stone pulls away, wiping his hands clean as he gets off the bed.

He clicks off the overhead light and taps on the lamp on the bedside table, dims it enough to inundate the surrounding spaces in a glow that is easier on the eyes. Stone removes his pants and boxers in one go, the time for foreplay over, kicking them aside before grabbing another pillow from the walk-in closet.

“I’m _cold_ ,” Robotnik complains, glaring at him from the bed. He doesn’t try for the sheets and just lays there, chest rising and falling, cheeks dusted pink, gorgeous cock standing at attention better than any soldier could.

Stone grins at him, standing at the foot of the bed and giving his own neglected cock a good tug, making his eyelids flutter. He winks at Robotnik when the doctor lifts his head to watch. “Like what you see?”

“You’ll pay for your cruel teasing,” but the empty threat is accompanied by the spreading of his legs when Stone rejoins him on the bed. “I don’t need more pillows.”

“Give it twenty minutes and you’ll thank me. Up.” Stone stacks the pillows, hears the appreciative little ‘oomph’ once Robotnik settles back down again, sinking into a far softer and forgiving surface. “Comfy?”

“Stop treating me like I’m some delicate flower.”

“I’m not,” Stone says, holding up his hands as he returns to kneeling between Robotnik’s knees. He scoots up enough so that the doctor’s ass is nearly resting on his thighs, delivering a soft smack against the sensitive skin.

Robotnik tenses with a tight frown, looking thoughtful before shaking his head. “Another time,” he says simply, and Stone rubs the warmed surface apologetically.

“Promise me you’ll speak up if I do something you don’t like. Just like that.”

“When have you _ever_ known me to keep my mouth shut?”

Stone leans down for a kiss, easing back just enough to coat himself with plenty of lube before lining up.

Robotnik’s jaw clenches at the pressure, eyes screwed shut and breathing fast as Stone slowly sheathes himself in that deliciously tight heat. It’s amazing, a little too tight still, but fuck if that’s not how Stone likes it. Robotnik too is digging his fingernails into Stone’s shoulders, tense despite the soft strokes of Stone’s lips across his neck, whispering gentle words of encouragement.

“How’s it feel?”

“ _Stone_.”

“Does it hurt?” Although the question is genuine, he can’t keep the smug hint of seduction from curling his words as he whispers them into Robotnik’s ear.

A segment of forever passes until Stone finally bottoms out, holding still with his forehead resting on Robotnik’s chest as he gathers a hint of composure. He’s in no short need of wanting to throw out his back with how hard he wants to fuck him, possessed with a hunger to hear Robotnik _scream_ for him, but he waits. Stone waits not because he is a patient man, but because this isn’t about him.

_‘I was twenty-two.’_

The veiled admission still speaks deafening in his ears. Stone can’t recreate the full picture of what it is that Robotnik experienced with this alleged friend, but he has enough to pick up on the scent of a pain so deep Stone is surprised he was even allowed to catch a glimpse. Whatever happened changed Robotnik on a molecular level, and Stone is taken by the pure sense of hatred he feels for some John Doe who used his doctor like some generic sock.

Thirty years it took Robotnik to even fathom the idea of sharing in someone else’s touch, and Stone will do whatever it takes to show him that physicality can be enjoyed. He can’t speak for the rest of the world, but so long as Robotnik is in _his_ hands, his doctor will never want for anything.

His stunningly beautiful, brilliant doctor. Vulnerable and dangerous in equal parts. Deserving of so much more than Stone can possibly give.

“Stone, _move_.”

“Give me… give me just a second.”

Robotnik drums his fingers on the back of Stone’s head, looking a little too unfazed for someone who had been about to sob two seconds ago. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, pretending to check the time on his bare wrist. “Unless you’d like to discuss a more diplomatic approach to our amorous congress.”

Stone holds himself up with unsteady arms, glaring down at Robotnik. Without looking away from his eyes, he pulls out until the flared tip spreads his hole taut and then stays there, unmoving, with a breath teetering on both their chests.

Lifting Robotnik’s left knee, Stone sinks back in at a halting pace, watching every crease and flinch on his face. The coalescence of bliss and annoyance is something to behold, Robotnik’s usual brand of brutal honesty on a display so lewd Stone bites the inside of his lip to distract him from finishing too soon.

“What—” Robotnik pauses, looking away and squeezing his eyes shut. “Do you…” he pants, groans, twitches, “need a goddamn invitation?!”

Stone doesn’t answer. He focuses instead on grinding once skin presses flush against skin, pulling out only an inch before pressing in again. 

Slow. Measured. Torturous.

Too much so for a man constantly thinking at top-speed, Robotnik’s body constantly pushing the boundaries of what is humanly possible. Here, Stone forces him to stop, to feel rather than think, and if it takes hours to get him to that point then so be it. Stone has the stamina.

He holds himself up, attentively looking down, working his hips at a leisurely pace until Robotnik is loose enough to take a harder stride. Stone considers it—not too fast and not too hard but a notch above his current miniscule movement—to ease the pressure building at the bottom of his spine.

But he doesn’t.

Stone continues, reaching down to press kisses along Robotnik’s ruddy cheeks, a lovely mixture of frustration and pleasure, hot under his touch. It takes a Herculean effort not to abandon the careful thrusting when Robotnik’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back, a wrecked moan hitching its way out of his throat when Stone accidentally strokes up against that spot deep inside of him.

“Again,” is all Robotnik manages to say, but even the single word loses its authority amidst quivering breaths and unconscious sighs freely given.

Blunt nails dig into Stone’s shoulder blades, leaving paths on their way down his back until Robotnik’s hands settle on his ass, giving it a firm squeeze at some feeble attempt to make him break pace.

“We’ve got all night, Doctor,” Stone says around a laugh against his mouth, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a tug. “Neither of us are in a hurry.”

They really aren’t, and Stone easily loses any sense of time when he focuses his attention on Robotnik’s chest. He licks and nibbles, suckles on hard nipples until a smack on his shoulder alerts him he’s stopped moving altogether. He gives Robotnik a few strokes to keep him satisfied.

Stone tucks his face into the crook of Robotnik’s neck when the thin sheen of sweat makes it difficult to get any form of grip. The desperation from earlier has eased into a baseline thrum, a soothing lull that nearly whisks Stone to sleep were it not for Robotnik’s continuous noises. But Stone is on a mission. He refuses to break his ongoing streak of a perfect score, and if he has to edge them both until the first rays of sunlight slip through the curtains, then so be it.

Stone isn’t sure when it happens exactly, but he notices when he’s about to lift a hand to dry his forehead. 

Their fingers are entwined.

Robotnik’s eyes are unfocused as they remain on Stone. His lips are parted but he’s quiet aside from his uneven breathing. The doctor is dazed, but it’s not the same type of disconnect from earlier, when he visibly sunk into some nightmarish hellscape Stone was able to easily bring him out from. Robotnik is here, in the now, driven half mad from denied pleasure and accepting it, allowing Stone to guide them both into fresh territory.

“Doctor?” Stone uses the hand not currently preoccupied holding another to comb Robotnik’s hair, silky smooth strands spilling from between his fingers. “Still with me?”

Robotnik hums. “Where else would I be?”

Stone gives him a soothing smile. “Just checking in,” he says, the _in_ accentuated by the first forceful snap of his hips of the evening.

Half-lidded eyes suddenly widen, a spark of delight igniting in their dark depths. “Oh! _Agent Stone._ ” Robotnik’s tone is coy, wakefulness coming back to him.

Stone doesn’t pull away as he shifts onto his knees, grateful for the quality mattress beneath them. Robotnik lets go of his hand when Stone readjusts himself, arms now around the doctor, pulling them impossibly close in an embrace so intimate Stone would feel downright bashful were he not so out-of-his-mind aroused.

“Awaiting orders, Doctor.”

Robotnik laughs, stops, eyebrows pinching together in mild confusion before easing back into their blissed arch. “A horny Stone is a funny Stone, huh.”

“And a horny Robotnik is an easygoing one,” Stone says, nuzzling the underside of his chin. The laugh had been genuine, punched out of his breathless body, and it fills Stone with a sense of—

Oh.

Oh, _shit._

Crushes are one thing. Sleeping with someone out of some sort of romantic inclination is another; wholly common, people do it all the time, it’s how some relationships kick off. But Stone can’t believe he’s been this much of a fucking idiot, just realizing it as he looks down at a deviously grinning Robotnik. A man fresh out of a thirty-year dry spell due to a broken heart and an equally broken understanding of how human connections actually function.

Stone shuts his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden awareness. He always knew his devotion has been a little too powerful, his loyalty too fierce to be strictly professional. He’s not _that_ stupid, but he’s successfully managed to keep that final latch from clicking into place for so long. He should’ve known something like this would burst the door right open.

He bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that _would_ ruin the moment. Now’s not the time. Maybe, somewhere down the line, when Robotnik can finally see things in a different light, Stone will tell him. For now, he relishes in the relief of finally acknowledging the stealthy emotion he hadn’t been aware has been tormenting him until this very moment.

“Don’t get used to it,” Robotnik says. “You have my explicit permission.”

“Explicit permission to what?” Stone says, both to be difficult—because he can, in this situation—and to distract himself from the overwhelming pressure building in his chest. “Instructions unclear.”

“ _Fuck me already_ , for the love of every _goddamn_ machine I’ve ever created.”

Stone snorts. “I have been for the past… however long we’ve been here.”

“ _Stone._ ”

“Doctor.”

Nails bite down on his soft midsection, the sting making Stone hiss, making him _hot_ —and that’s definitely new—and he retaliates by pulling out halfway before slamming in hard enough to move them both up the bed. Robotnik’s back arches off the sheets, a breathtaking sound slipping past his lips unbidden as he _laughs_ with near manic delight.

“ _There_ you go, Stone! Show me what you _really_ want.” The words are sharp enough to cut, deliriously erotic as Robotnik gasps, satisfied that he’s finally getting what _he_ wants.

And Stone doesn’t disappoint. Stone never disappoints.

Stone fucks him to a chorus of thoughtless demands cried out into the chilled bedroom air, urged on into a punishing pace that is as loud as Robotnik, lewd and obscene and heady, base, animalistic, and Stone abandons his reserve to join him. No need to keep himself in check, to exude calm and stoic control over everything he says and does. Stone _moans_ and he feels exhilarated, drunk on power and desire as he makes Robotnik writhe.

“That,” Robotnik blurts out, clinging to him for dear life. “Like _that._ ”

Stone feels his muscles burn as he instinctively tries to be quiet but can’t, not anymore, not when Robotnik is inviting him.

“Harder, Stone. I can take it,” but the words break into a high whine, one that goes off like a siren—a warning that has Stone doing as he’s told, double time. “S-tone—!”

“Do it,” Stone pants, grabbing hold of Robotnik’s face and holding him place, nose to nose as they both push and pull even harder, unable to look away. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Robotnik tries to look affronted, to scoff, to do something other than keen, but he fails. For once in his life he fails and he takes it with stunning grace, holding onto Stone. “I’m—”

“ _Doctor_.”

Robotnik grits his teeth together, unable to turn away. “I’m gonna cum, Stone. I’m gonna _fucking_ cum.” The words are barely whispered, barely intelligible when Robotnik goes quiet, his body rigid as Stone mercilessly pounds him straight through his orgasm, watching raptly as tears gather in the corner of his eyes before escaping down the sides of his face.

Robotnik has never looked as stunning as he does now, fucked silent and crying, trembling as he comes down with a sob and a feeble moan Stone steals right from his mouth.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease up. Stone kisses the corner of Robotnik’s parted lips before letting go of his face, hoisting himself up on his arms for better leverage, to better fuck that spectacular ass that now takes him so easily, like he belongs, like no one else is ever meant to be there.

“Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had,” Stone says, the words coiling molten in his gut, unbidden. His brain has given up and his dick has taken over, and with a sated doctor now splayed under him, soft and willing, Stone does not care to hold back. He doesn’t even know what the statement relates to, anyway. “Tell me, Doctor.”

Robotnik hums, arms splayed out on the bed. “Bossy.”

“Doctor, please.”

Desperate. So desperate. For approval, acceptance, to be seen.

“You are, Stone,” Robotnik says gazing up at him with shining eyes. “You’ve done admirably.”

Stone spills with a litany of gasps and moans, all of them flowing freely as he fills Robotnik to bursting, pulsing hot as he thrusts again and again until he’s spent, ears ringing.

They breathe together, unmoving, watching each other.

The high ebbs away, leaving sweat to cool on too hot, too sensitive skin.

No quips, no questions, no words. Just bone-deep exhaustion brought forth by blinding fulfillment.

They both lean towards each other for one more kiss, and then another, and another, before Stone finds himself losing his balance. Too-weak limbs fail him, but he’s mindful enough to slip out and roll onto his side with a groan rather than collapse onto the shivering form below him. A soft laugh turns into a tender sigh when Robotnik shifts with him, slotting himself as best he can into the nooks and crannies of Stone’s body without a word.

He should clean them up. At the very least, he should pull the covers over them, but when choked hiccups turn to even breathing, Robotnik’s eyelashes resting on his cheeks, sound asleep, Stone can’t be bothered to move from his spot.

Reaching over to turn off the lamp, Stone wraps his arms around his doctor, and lets the blissful abyss of rest take them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title are (mildly modified) lyrics from "Come Home With Me" by Zolita.


	4. I will never look away

Late fall brings late sunrises.

7:00 AM fills the bedroom with cool blue light creeping around the edges of the blinds, the sun yet to make an appearance on that quiet Saturday morning. Stone hopes it takes longer to crest over the horizon, his eyelids still feeling the heaviness of sleep as it tries to lull him back under.

_Hour seven of year zero,_ he thinks within the warmth of his bed, beneath the weight of a soft body curled against his side.

Two and a half weeks ago they had whirlwind sex and found themselves in a bed that was personal; tentatively offered, belligerently accepted.

Last night was planned, thought out. Premeditated.

They went out and shared a nice evening. Average. Boring by both their standards. But then, _Stone took Robotnik home_. Robotnik came with him, shed his coat and kicked off his shoes. And then they went to bed. And then they had sex. Actual sex, where they took their time and explored and learned and bickered like they would at any time of day.

It’s with an aching heart that Stone acknowledges that it may have been more than just sex, that despite the frenzied and messy crossing of the finish line, they made love.

He tries not to choke up at the thought.

He fails.

From the start, he set out to make this more than just a one (two?) night stand. The glimpse of Robotnik’s past he had been given sparked both rage and a protectiveness beyond the call of duty. Maybe one day he’ll get the full story of the friend who made a mockery of Robotnik’s first and only attempt at human affection, but until then Stone has vowed to show him that, while he cannot speak for all of humanity, Stone can speak for himself. And, so long as Robotnik allows it, Stone would rather die than break the doctor’s remarkably fragile heart.

He deserves love, as well as the understanding denied to him throughout his life. He deserves to be seen for the genius he truly is rather than a machine whose sole reason for existence is the production of weapons. He deserves to be recognized and cared for. Maybe if he had experienced genuine nurturing—he would still be an insufferable idiot despite his vast intelligence, loud and eccentric and vibrant. He’d be human, no more or no less than he is now, but he wouldn’t have needed to deny himself of something so basic as human contact out of fear of further rejection. Wouldn’t need to drive himself to the brink of self-destruction, only to do it all over again for preschool-grade toys.

Laying here, Stone knows he cannot change nearly six decades worth of damaged programming. Corrupted, neglected, left out in the rain to short-circuit, and then forced to work onward despite the unsalvageable hardware. But he isn’t a computer, he reminds himself. Robotnik isn’t one of the machines he’s built out of sheer spite to control and destroy, although he might like to think that he is. In truth, Robotnik is painfully human. Beautifully breakable. Overly emotional. And Stone resents the world that perceives him as the opposite.

At the very least, Stone vows to never leave. Whatever comes of this, Stone will continue to be the best agent he can be. Assistant, bodyguard, unlisted hitman. What the doctor needs, Stone will be.

_Boyfriend would be kinda nice, too._ Betrayed by the tranquility, by the peace of having Robotnik clinging to him like a cephalopod, fast asleep, slightly snoring, Stone briefly loses sight of a plausible future. Instead, he pictures a scene where everything is exactly the same as it is, with him trailing behind the doctor, coffee in hand, only the heat is unevenly distributed as a titanium band on his ring finger taps pleasantly against the cup.

Stone rolls his eyes.

He hates mornings after a good lay. He always ends up getting sappy enough to pop the question. Not that he’d mind spending the rest of his life bound to the beautiful disaster currently drooling on his chest.

As carefully as possible, Stone extricates himself from Robotnik’s iron grip without waking him. He waits until the doctor readjusts, mumbling something unintelligible as he hugs a pillow to his chest, curling around it, before he pulls the covers up to tuck him in. Knowing Robotnik, he won’t likely be up for another hour.

Stone deactivates the security system and makes for the bathroom.

He takes his time showering, sighing blissfully as scorching hot water washes away the unpleasants of the morning after. He cranks out the good body wash. Done and dried, he wraps a towel around his waist while he grooms in front of the foggy mirror, touching up his beard after he’s flossed and brushed.

Once he’s deemed himself acceptable for a lazy morning in—no early morning run, and his usual workout routine can wait until the evening—he slips on a pair of jeans and bypasses his favorite shirt in favor of a newer, nicer sweater he’s been holding off on wearing for a special occasion.

He peeks his head in the bedroom to see Robotnik has not moved an inch. That will most likely change the moment he pops on a brew.

Stone hums along to a nondescript song in his head as he enters his kitchen and gets started on breakfast, rummaging through his pantry in search of something that says _‘last night was great and if we do it again I’ll continue to make you the most delicious of meals the moment you wake up’_. Unfortunately, Stone’s skills end at orgasmic cups of coffee, and any other type of recipe must be brought up on some hipster app he peruses more often than he’d like to admit.

Continuing the trend of chucking routine out the front door for the rest of the day, Stone forsakes the usual protein packed meal on the go and instead grabs the old waffle maker stashed at the back of the pan rack. It had been a gift from a former colleague with absolutely no context. Stone had been so amused he kept it, and he’s glad he did.

Phone still in the bedroom, he grabs his holotablet from the living room. This had also been a gift— _sort of_ —thrown at him by Robotnik, calling it a failed prototype. It works just fine, connecting to the doctor’s private network and allowing Stone to browse anonymously, all the while being able to play any music his heart desires.

The small screen projected on the counter behind him, Stone picks an upbeat playlist and keeps the volume low enough to only be heard in the kitchen and pulls up a recipe for homemade waffles.

It’s an intoxicating feeling, this airy elatedness that moves him across the kitchen with a bounce in his step. He bops his head to the beat, sings along to every other lyric he can remember, gets most of them wrong, but continues anyway while the waffle iron heats up and he mixes together the last ingredients for the batter.

Powdered sugar, strawberries, and he skips the whipped cream for some bananas instead. He smiles at the prospect of just setting Robotnik loose on the Brass while on a sugar high, but he’s not that mean. He couldn’t care less about the droning military types strung out to the point of snapping, but he knows how they get whenever Robotnik comes on too strong for their tastes; they like to take low blows, throw him off his axis, and Stone isn’t having that. There isn’t much he can control, but he is well adept at serving as a buffer.

The coffee is set to brew.

Stone prepares the table for two.

The click of a door and the sound of running water makes Stone stop to bask in the surrealness of things once again. 

No running out the door for a meeting they will be an entire two minutes late for. He can’t say for certain whether Robotnik will be defensive or not, deploying his impenetrable security system specifically designed to indiscriminately lock people out—shoot to kill.

Carafe of orange juice in hand, he sets it at the center of the table before turning around to open the blinds.

There’s about a foot of snow out and it’s still falling, covering the world in a blanket of white. Tree branches sway against the force of the wind, the last of the dead leaves ripped off and buried overnight. No sun will likely be showing its rays past the thick cover of clouds for the rest of the day. His Rover can handle blizzarding conditions just fine, but Stone really doesn’t feel like shoveling a path out of his driveway anytime soon.

He stands there and watches, arms wrapped around him as he replays the events of last night like a favorite movie reel—the touches and the kisses, the noises Robotnik made, all high and desperate and needy for Stone to make him feel good. 

He is grateful for the quiet beep of the waffle iron.

He pours in the batter and prepares their coffee, adds a small hint of caramel because despite the solid head on his shoulders he’s in the mood to spoil his doctor. As if the man weren’t horribly spoiled enough.

Stone is on the last waffle, flipping it onto a plate when he hears the soft padding of socked footsteps on hardwood floors. He sprinkles powdered sugar on it, then neatly places the sliced strawberries on the side. Wiping his hands clean on a towel, Stone turns and presents a surprisingly put-together Robotnik with the plate.

“Good morning.”

Robotnik stares at him for a long moment, gives him a slow onceover before taking his waffle with a suspicious look. He doesn’t move away, only shifts his attention from Stone to the proffered offering. “What’s this?”

Stone crosses his arms. “Breakfast.”

“I know it’s—Stone, I’m not an idiot.”

_You asked._ “I was in the mood for an easy morning and I assumed you’d appreciate me sharing said mood,” he says, as bluntly as possible as to leave no room for second guessing. “You know, writing our own book and all.”

“Don’t most people already do this?”

Stone swallows. “Those in established relationships.”

“Of the romantic kind.”

“Of the romantic kind,” Stone softly reassures, holding his breath for a myriad of reasons. “I’m… unsure if you want to proceed with said kind of relationship.”

Robotnik turns away from him, putting his plate on the table before—very carefully, Stone notices—taking a seat. He shifts around a bit, wincing as he does so, and Stone can’t help the lick of arousal low in his gut. _He did that_ and he isn’t the least bit sorry about it.

Stone brings their coffees to the table, sets the sugar down for Robotnik to take as he pleases, before grabbing his own plate and sitting across from him.

The music is still playing in the background, snow is still falling, and Stone is in no way ready to broach the subject he knows must be addressed before either of them walks out the front door. He takes a sip of his coffee to steel his nerves, but Robotnik speaks up first.

“I almost lost my toes to frostbite in the Blizzard of ‘67,” he says as if making a political statement. “Same year I drafted my first communication device, so I didn’t have to sneak out of the communal room at St. Mary’s after hours. I never did like those hallways, Stone. A person of lesser understanding of the physical world would say they were haunted, and with good reason. Even I heard the tormented screaming of other children from time to time.” Robotnik cuts a triangle shape into his waffle using his fork. “Do you have any syrup?”

Stone nods his head and wordlessly fetches a syrup bottle from the pantry.

“Good times. _Simple times._ You expected a cane every other week and that was the extent of it, two Our Fathers and three Hail Marys a day and _boom_ , good to go. Fever? Pray it away. Broken bone after climbing a tree? A lash for every fracture and _then_ pray it away.” He pauses, takes a drink from his coffee and hums appreciatively. “Slip into another boy’s bed and you’re out on the street, no God and no Holy Mother to watch over you. Do you know what happens to gifted children— _real_ gifted children, not some chum’s painfully average bobblehead who can recite the alphabet when they’re in first grade—I mean, IQ off the charts level of gifted? Absolutely nothing. You get picked up, thrown in school, pat in the back with the promise of a brighter tomorrow and by the time the bell rings you’re back on the street. _Good luck finding food and a place to sleep!_ And, _you’re a genius, you can figure it out!_ ”

The fork leaves indents in Stone’s palm. He’s looking at Robotnik, breakfast ignored. He doesn’t speak now that the doctor’s found traction.

“I’ve read your file,” Robotnik continues, popping a strawberry slice into his mouth. “Your real one. Eldest son to immigrant parents, two siblings, Eagle Scout, born and raised in the American South. Joined the military to pay your way through college, but your little defiant attitude didn’t sit too well with your superiors, so you settled for the Secret Service.” He loudly taps his fork against the edge of his plate. “Settled being an understatement. Top of your class at Quantico, could’ve easily graduated from engineering if you had just sucked it up for another twelve credits.”

Robotnik is rambling. His fist clenches and unclenches where it rests on the table, the shift of his shoulders indicates he’s bouncing his knee. His eyes are a little too bright, catching the dull morning light as they bore a hole straight through Stone’s skull. His face is flushed, but not due to anything remotely pleasant. Whatever it is he’s trying to say is buried deep and Stone grants him all the space he needs, despite the overwhelming urge to lean over and take his hand to offer him solace.

The doctor leans back in his chair with a wince, pushing the plate away. “I run deeper than some _frat bro_ who liked what my mouth could do.” He shrugs, face and all.

Stone is slow to catch on for once, piecing the picture together with something akin to resplendent anger lighting up in his chest. “If what I wanted was a pity fuck I would have picked someone from the HR department,” he says, careful to keep his tone neutral. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what, Stone? State what you don’t want to hear? Shed a light in your perfect little bubble of a life?”

“I won’t be pushed away out of fear.”

Robotnik stops mid word, blinking at him. “What did you just say?”

“I have no intention to ask anything of you, Doctor. Zero expectations, zero pressure,” Stone offers him a gentle smile, one that’s more understanding than happy. “If your intention here is to highlight how I’m better equipped to process this type of emotion, then, with all due respect, you’re dead wrong.”

“Do not. Try me today. _Agent_.”

“Alright, fine. If that’s not what you were aiming for, then correct me. Tell me I’m the one that’s wrong. Because maybe I do want to show you that-that _asshole_ had no right, but not because I’m driven by some sort of savior complex. I wanted to take you out, I still do, to show you how nice things can be outside of work, because… because I…” Stone struggles to find the right words. It is always so much easier to speak from an occupational vantage point. “Because I care.”

Barely noticeable but painfully present is the trembling along Robotnik’s shoulders. His mustache twitches with barely contained emotion—not at all good ones. Stone knows he dug a knife into an old wound, but sometimes a bone must be re-broken for it to set properly.

“There’s nothing I would change about you,” he says, rubbing a hand along his bicep. “Our pasts may be different but we’re both here, now. I’m still your agent and will continue to be so long as you’ll have me. Your coffee will always be hot, and I’ll be there to share it with you.” Stone takes a steadying breath, licking his dry lips. “Whatever turn our relationship takes from here on out, my feelings for you remain.”

Robotnik crosses his legs, then uncrosses them. He slouches, looking thoughtful and wide-eyed. “Your feelings.”

“Mhm.”

“Sound off.”

“Right now, it’s mostly annoyance,” Stone admits, striving towards that ideal form of communication. “I thought our morning would be a bit more honeymoon-y, but I failed to take your thoughts and feelings into consideration over my own.” He nods his head, impressed at his own ability to condense his thoughts into a simple, direct statement. “I was so caught up in what I thought would make you feel good, that I didn’t think to ask you.”

Robotnik sniffs. “And here you were, giving me lip for not asking what you wanted to eat.”

“You’re right,” Stone says with an amused exhale. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Of course, Doctor. I’m the biggest idiot out of the both of us.”

“Granted,” Robotnik says, picking up his fork again and piercing the last strawberry, “the rest of the world can’t ever catch up.”

Stone smiles at that, turning to face the window. It never occurred to him that this is what it would be like to share something more than a professional relationship with Robotnik. Brutal honesty amidst meandering tangents, blunt confessions of one’s shortcomings and insecurities. Simultaneously the same and worlds different from the offhand rants within the walls of the lab.

“What I meant to say—before you rudely interrupted me—was that I’m willing to accept that I’m woefully ill-equipped to deal with this sort of… _thing_.” Robotnik reaches for his coffee again, protectively cradling the mug between his bare fingers. “Code may be simple but it often rejects new inputs.”

“Unless you rewrite it from scratch.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“You’re a genius, I’m sure you can manage.”

Robotnik smirks down at his breakfast, and it touches his eyes with something warm. “My work queue is backlogged for a good, oh, two years. Might take awhile for me to get to it.”

“Good thing you have me as your assistant. I could potentially rearrange project schedules… or I could just wait until you’re ready to work on this one.” Stone finally digs into his food, enjoying the cloying sweetness of a recipe perfectly executed.

“I’m picking our next date location,” Robotnik says after a beat of silence, matter-of-factly. “Leave it to me, Stone, and then we can discuss who the superior planner is. You think a food truck and a milkshake is enough to woo me?”

Stone holds up his hands, mock-insulted. “First date! I was testing the waters. The scientific method and all that.”

Robotnik clicks his tongue. “Amateur.”

They each finish up about half their meal, and Stone cleans off the table while the doctor hovers at the windows watching the storm as it rages against the world outside.

He fills up the sink and sets the dishes in to soak, his thoughts far off and his chest heavy as he replays the roundabout way Robotnik tried to explain his hardwired defects. The way the doctor compared himself to Stone left a sour taste lingering on the back of his tongue, the blatant admission to feeling like he was lesser than. The knowledge that Robotnik thinks of himself not as unworthy, but incapable.

Nothing changes. Stone still feels the need to hold him close, to care for him, to show him that he’s worth more than what he can produce. While blunt honesty may be the best way to approach the doctor, right now it doesn’t feel right. He’s skidding on thin ice and shattering it will only send the man scuttling back to the safety of his lab. Robotnik has already offered so much, opened up to him in a way Stone hadn’t been expecting. Raw and bleeding, ready to be seen, and that must mean something.

Stone starts when Robotnik tugs on his sweater, like a child timidly requesting an adult’s attention.

Without the smallest hint of hesitation, Stone turns to him and holds out his arms. Robotnik _deflates_ into him, his own arms limp by his sides but his forehead tucking against Stone’s neck. His frame shivers when Stone presses his hands midway up his back, pressing him close. Keeping him safe and warm.

Robotnik sighs against him, fingers eventually threading through the thick knit of the sweater.

They stand there as Stone’s hands dry and Robotnik sniffles away quietly.

“How does the rest of you feel?” Stone murmurs against his ear. “I got a little bit rough on you there.”

“You wrung the absolute life out of me, and I hope you feel bad. I think you threw out my back.”

“Should we go back to bed? I don’t think either of us will be going anywhere in this weather.”

Robotnik hums. “I’ll remotely power-on the girls and have them start the lab’s runner system in case it eases up.”

Dishes ignored for the time being, they make for the living room instead.

Many a night has Stone crashed on this couch, big and broken in as it is, its ugly brown color throwing off the minimalist decor of the rest of his home. Regardless, it’s comfortable and there is a TV across from it. Some background noise might do the doctor some good.

Stone lays back on it and Robotnik slots himself against him, whining and complaining all the way, griping over _how could he do this to someone like him_. “Someone as old as you?” He gets his arms smacked for the quip.

But no number of bodily aches is enough to keep Robotnik from feeling Stone up, giving him a lazy handjob while they doze to the lulling voice of David Attenborough narrating the migration pattern of penguins. Stone cums with a dreamy little sigh that is partially lost amidst endless kisses and murmured taunts, threats that send thrills through them both. A laugh here, a rant surrounding the BBC’s abysmal methods of research there, all the while Stone idly combs his fingers through Robotnik’s hair, making the man purr if he could.

He pulls the throw blanket on the back of the couch—one that admittedly hasn’t been washed in a couple of weeks—over them. A scent that is uniquely Stone clings to it and Robotnik doesn’t seem bothered, sinking further into him until he falls asleep again, his features soft and unguarded as he naps in his agent’s arms.

Stone fishes for his holotablet and deftly launches the lab’s running procedure, watching long enough to see a tiny badnik hover free of its charging station and make contact with the main console unit to initiate power-up protocols. Fully automated, flawlessly designed.

Setting an alarm for two hours from now, Stone is once more awed by the doctor’s genius as he sets the device on the floor.

Such a brilliant man so handsomely surrendered to Stone’s chest.

Draping an arm around Robotnik’s back, Stone pulls him closer and wishes him a good rest. 

Once the day properly begins, they will be back to a new type of normal. The same routine that works so well with an added flair. They may not be quite there yet with something so newly born still writhing on their laps, but Stone will raise it. He will raise it and nurture it and he has no doubt Robotnik will peek in every once in a while until he, too, is ready to bring their own collaborative, organic project into the world outside the lab.

Stone has never been one to count his eggs before they hatch, but at the very least, this one he can hold and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "Never Look Away" by Vienna Teng.


End file.
